Look there—there at the window, those dark men, With murderous and outlandish-looking arms— They’ve been about the house all day. [_Dark-faced MEN with strange barbaric dress and arms pass by the doors and windows. They pass one by one and in silence._ FERGUS [_looking after them_]. What are you? Where do you come from, who is it sent you here? FIRST MUSICIAN. They will not answer you. FERGUS. They do not hear. FIRST MUSICIAN. Forgive my open speech, but to these eyes That have seen many lands, they are such men As kings will gather for a murderous task, That neither bribes, commands, nor promises Can bring their people to. FERGUS. And that is why You harped upon an old man’s jealousy. A trifle sets you quaking. Conchubar’s fame Brings merchandise on every wind that blows. They may have brought him Libyan dragon-skin, Or the ivory of the fierce unicorn. FIRST MUSICIAN. If these be merchants, I have seen the goods They have brought to Conchubar, and understood His murderous purpose. FERGUS. Murderous, you say? Why, what new gossip of the roads is this? But I’ll not hear. FIRST MUSICIAN. It may be life or death. There is a room in Conchubar’s house, and there— FERGUS. Be silent, or I’ll drive you from the door. There’s many a one that would do more than that, And make it prison, or death, or banishment To slander the High King. [_Suddenly restraining himself and speaking gently._ He is my friend; I have his oath, and I am well content. I have known his mind as if it were my own These many years, and there is none alive Shall buzz against him, and I there to stop it. I know myself, and him, and your wild thought Fed on extravagant poetry, and lit By such a dazzle of old fabulous tales That common things are lost, and all that’s strange Is true because ’twere pity if it were not. [_Going to the door again._ Quick! quick! your instruments! they are coming now. I hear the hoofs a-clatter. Begin that song; But what is it to be? I’d have them hear A music foaming up out of the house Like wine out of a cup. Come now, a verse Of some old time not worth remembering, And all the lovelier because a bubble. Begin, begin, of some old king and queen, Of Lugaidh Redstripe or another; no, not him, He and his lady perished wretchedly. FIRST MUSICIAN [_singing_]. ‘Why is it,’ Queen Edain said, ‘If I do but climb the stair....’ FERGUS. Ah! that is better.... They are alighted now. Shake all your cockscombs, children; these are lovers. [_FERGUS goes out._ FIRST MUSICIAN.